Also :Hear me recite poetry form on this YouTube link
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=HQIoeA2cMtM
A LABOUR OF LOVE
What intimacy is its
cause,perhaps
an immaculate
conception of words;
too swift to
comprehend,see or
recognise.The moment
is there
and then is not.Gone
with the wind
the seed of idea
remains, to
germinate and
gestate,fanned by a
mental fragrance of
elation.Slowly
self-transcending a
word into a phrase,
a sentence to a
strophe;a rhyme
rides a waterfall of
cadence,
into a chasm of
verse. Terse or
long, the sonnet
becomes a little song,
struggles to
arrive.Thrust forth upon
my page;a
bastard-born of pain
